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STILL I MISS YOU

An excess of navel-gazing quickly grows tiresome.

Two former lovers address one another after one of them has died.

Any and every novel will ask that, while reading, you suspend your disbelief. A novel in which one of the main characters has already died, and continues to speak from beyond the grave, asks with a bit more urgency. That’s the conceit of Pedrosa’s (In Your Hands, 2018) latest novel to appear in English. There’s no plot here, no real action. Instead, in alternating chapters, a man and a woman—formerly lovers—address one another in long, stream-of-consciousness passages that describe their relationship, their lives, and quite a few more abstract ideas, too. It’s the woman who has died. “I died when a drifter got lost on the way to my uterus,” she explains. “I died because my body decided to produce a new life and screwed it up.” And her counterpart? “Did you think about me as you were dying?” he asks. But most of the novel is far less straightforward. Both characters trade in lyrical abstractions as they wax on and on about whatever comes to mind. A typical passage: “Through you, I existed before I was even born, in the harsh, secret vocabulary of a war that no longer belonged to me….” These meditations grow tiresome rather quickly. Unsupported by any action, the weight of the novel sags heavily in the middle. Pedrosa has worked as a journalist in her native Portugal: Some journalistic precision might have helped sharpen this hazy novel, at least enough to bring it into focus.

An excess of navel-gazing quickly grows tiresome.

Pub Date: July 1, 2019

ISBN: 978-1-5420-9333-0

Page Count: 298

Publisher: Amazon Crossing

Review Posted Online: April 13, 2019

Kirkus Reviews Issue: May 1, 2019

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THE HANDMAID'S TALE

Tinny perhaps, but still a minutely rendered and impressively steady feminist vision of apocalypse.

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The time is the not-so-distant future, when the US's spiraling social freedoms have finally called down a reaction, an Iranian-style repressive "monotheocracy" calling itself the Republic of Gilead—a Bible-thumping, racist, capital-punishing, and misogynistic rule that would do away with pleasure altogether were it not for one thing: that the Gileadan women, pure and true (as opposed to all the nonbelieving women, those who've ever been adulterous or married more than once), are found rarely fertile.

Thus are drafted a whole class of "handmaids," whose function is to bear the children of the elite, to be fecund or else (else being certain death, sent out to be toxic-waste removers on outlying islands). The narrative frame for Atwood's dystopian vision is the hopeless private testimony of one of these surrogate mothers, Offred ("of" plus the name of her male protector). Lying cradled by the body of the barren wife, being meanwhile serviced by the husband, Offred's "ceremony" must be successful—if she does not want to join the ranks of the other disappeared (which include her mother, her husband—dead—and small daughter, all taken away during the years of revolt). One Of her only human conduits is a gradually developing affair with her master's chauffeur—something that's balanced more than offset, though, by the master's hypocritically un-Puritan use of her as a kind of B-girl at private parties held by the ruling men in a spirit of nostalgia and lust. This latter relationship, edging into real need (the master's), is very effectively done; it highlights the handmaid's (read Everywoman's) eternal exploitation, profane or sacred ("We are two-legged wombs, that's all: sacred vessels, ambulatory chalices"). Atwood, to her credit, creates a chillingly specific, imaginable night-mare. The book is short on characterization—this is Atwood, never a warm writer, at her steeliest—and long on cynicism—it's got none of the human credibility of a work such as Walker Percy's Love In The Ruins. But the scariness is visceral, a world that's like a dangerous and even fatal grid, an electrified fence.

Tinny perhaps, but still a minutely rendered and impressively steady feminist vision of apocalypse.

Pub Date: Feb. 17, 1985

ISBN: 038549081X

Page Count: -

Publisher: Houghton Mifflin

Review Posted Online: Sept. 16, 2011

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Jan. 15, 1985

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ANIMAL FARM

A FAIRY STORY

A modern day fable, with modern implications in a deceiving simplicity, by the author of Dickens. Dali and Others (Reynal & Hitchcock, p. 138), whose critical brilliance is well adapted to this type of satire. This tells of the revolt on a farm, against humans, when the pigs take over the intellectual superiority, training the horses, cows, sheep, etc., into acknowledging their greatness. The first hints come with the reading out of a pig who instigated the building of a windmill, so that the electric power would be theirs, the idea taken over by Napoleon who becomes topman with no maybes about it. Napoleon trains the young puppies to be his guards, dickers with humans, gradually instigates a reign of terror, and breaks the final commandment against any animal walking on two legs. The old faithful followers find themselves no better off for food and work than they were when man ruled them, learn their final disgrace when they see Napoleon and Squealer carousing with their enemies... A basic statement of the evils of dictatorship in that it not only corrupts the leaders, but deadens the intelligence and awareness of those led so that tyranny is inevitable. Mr. Orwell's animals exist in their own right, with a narrative as individual as it is apt in political parody.

Pub Date: Aug. 26, 1946

ISBN: 0452277507

Page Count: 114

Publisher: Harcourt, Brace

Review Posted Online: Nov. 2, 2011

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Aug. 1, 1946

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